The Violets of March (35 page)

“Yes,” I said, reaching my hand up to the nape of my neck. “And there’s something I’ve come across that I think she’d like you to have.” I unclasped the starfish necklace and held it in my hand, nodding to myself. Esther would have wanted her daughter to have it.

I had an hour before Bee planned to drop me off at the ferry terminal for the trip to Seattle to catch my flight. I packed my suitcase, tucking the treasures I’d collected on the island inside. But after I lay my mother’s childhood scrapbook on top of my cosmetic case, I shook my head. It didn’t belong in New York. It belonged here, on the island, for my mother to find again. She’d be back—I knew she would—and when she returned, she needed to make this discovery, on her own.

I remembered the photo Evelyn had left for me, and I could think of no better place for it than at home in the pages of the scrapbook. I leaned back against the bed and opened the book, turning to the last page, which was blank except for four black photo corners and the handwritten, flower-adorned word above:
Mother
. I carefully set the photo in place and then closed the scrapbook, gently setting it inside the drawer of the bedside table. I wanted to give it to her, but I knew in my heart that she needed to find it herself.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” I said to Bee a few minutes later. I closed the back door quickly behind me before she could protest.

My thoughts mirrored the ominous clouds lurking over the beach, gray and swollen.
How will Henry respond to the questions I have for him? Did he see my grandmother alive that fateful night? What did she tell him before driving over the cliff ?

I walked up the creaky steps that led to his front porch. I hadn’t noticed the cobwebs in the windows, or the catawampus doorframe, so jagged and splintered. I took a deep breath and knocked. And waited. And waited some more.

After a second knock, I thought I heard something or someone inside, so I moved closer to one of the windows and leaned in and listened: footsteps. They were definitely footsteps, hurried footsteps.

Through the window, I could see the living room, which was empty, and the hallway that led to the back door. I looked closer and noticed movement toward the rear of the house, followed by the sound of a door closing. Quickly, I ran around the side yard. There were the violets again, watching, waiting, in their wise way, as Henry’s car barreled out of the garage and onto the gravel driveway. I waved and yelled, hoping he’d stop, but he kept on, his car cloaked in a cloud of dust. Our eyes met for a moment in his rearview mirror, but he didn’t stop.

“Good-bye, dear,” Bee said, tears streaming down her cheeks as she dropped me off at the terminal. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Me too,” I said. Though I was leaving two stories unfinished on the island, mine and Esther’s, I had to go. The air was thick with memories and secrets, and I was finding it difficult to breathe.

“You’ll be coming back soon, won’t you?” Bee said with sadness in her eyes.

“Of course I will,” I replied. Even if I wasn’t so sure myself, Bee needed the reassurance. I squeezed her tight before joining the other passengers and making my way to the boat. My final act on the island was to place a copy of Esther’s diary, which I had painstakingly photocopied in town, into an envelope addressed to Elliot and drop it into a mailbox.

I was leaving the island I loved, and like my grandmother may or may not have done so many years before me, I left without knowing if I’d ever return.

Chapter 19

March 20

I
woke up in my New York bed the next day, back in my New York life, with my old New York problems. They seemed almost frivolous in contrast to the perplexing events of Bainbridge Island: an unsolved family mystery and an unfinished love affair. Scratch that; there were zero messages from Jack on my phone—a
finished
love affair.

If I’d thought I was going to get a cheerful welcome home from Annabelle, I was mistaken. “You shouldn’t have left, Em,” she said in a way that no other friend could. “You need to go back.”

“I thought I could do some thinking here,” I said. “Maybe do some writing.”

“I hate to sound blunt, darling.” She said “darling” with a distinct air of sarcasm. “But haven’t you said that for the last, what, five years?”

I looked down at my hands, tugging at my pinkie the way I do when I’m nervous.

“Sorry,” she said. “You know that I just want to see you happy, right?”

“Of course I know that.”

“Good.” Then she paused, and looked back at me a bit mischievously. “Because the maid of honor in my wedding has to be happy.”

My mouth fell open. “Annabelle! No way! You and Evan?”

“Me and Evan and Herbie Hancock,” she said, proudly holding up her hand to show off the ring. “I don’t know what happened, Em. These last few weeks, we’ve just clicked. And then he took me to a Herbie Hancock show and proposed between sets. And I said yes!”

I was happy for her, so very much, yet my insides trembled a little. Annabelle’s happiness was shining a floodlight over my solitude.

I smiled. “So how are you going to deal with the fact that Evan isn’t really the marrying kind of name?”

“To hell with that,” she said. “I’m going to take my chances. And he can always legally change his name to Bruce.”

She grabbed her jacket. “Sorry to rush off, but I’ve got to head back to my place. I’m meeting Evan for dinner at Vive tonight.”

I wanted to be meeting
anyone
for dinner at Vive tonight.

“Have fun,” I said.

“Oh, before I forget, there’s a box of mail on the kitchen table.”

“Thanks,” I said, shutting the door behind her.

But after she left, I didn’t turn on my laptop or read the mail. One hour turned into two, and then three. I curled up on the couch without bothering to remove my coat and shoes. It was the very definition of exhaustion. I just pulled a wool throw blanket over me, the one that Joel’s aunt had knitted for our wedding, the one I’d always hated but never dared give away. It was too small and made from fibers that itched bare skin, but I was cold. I pulled it up under my chin, rested my head on the cold leather pillow, and thought about Jack, and how nice it would have been if he were here with me.

March 21

The phone rang earlier than usual the next morning. The ring, I thought, sounded like the marriage of a screech and a fire alarm. I looked at the clock: 8:02 A.M.

“Hello?”

“Em, it’s me.”

It was a familiar voice, but whose? In my post-sleep haze, it took me a few seconds to recall just where I’d heard it. The café? A movie? Then I realized who it was, and my heart halted. Looking back on that moment, I do believe the earth stopped spinning for a brief second the moment I recognized his voice.

“Joel?”

“I heard that you’re back,” he said softly, cautiously.

“What do you mean you heard I was back? How did you know I left?”

“Listen,” he said, avoiding the question. “I know this is going to sound crazy. I know you want to hang up on me right now. But the truth is, Emily, I made a horrible mistake. I have to see you. I
need
to see you.”

He sounded sincere, and also sad. I dug my fingernails into my arm, just to make sure I was hearing this, just to make sure this was real.
Joel still wants me, so why aren’t I feeling anything?

I sat up and shook my head. “No, I can’t do this,” I said, remembering what’s-her-name. “For starters, you’re getting
married
.” The word shook me to my core. “And, by the way, thanks for that beautiful wedding invitation. How kind of you to remember me.”

My sarcasm, however, was met with confusion. “Wedding invitation?”

“Don’t play dumb,” I said. “You know you sent it.”

“No,” he said. “No, there must be some mistake. I didn’t send it.” He paused for a few seconds. “Stephanie,” he finally said. “Stephanie must have sent it. It had to be her. I can’t believe she would stoop that low, but I guess I should have realized. She’s not the person I thought she was, Em. Since we moved in together she’s been paranoid about everything, but especially about you. She thinks I still love you, and, well, I—”

“Joel, stop.”

“Just give me a half hour,” he pleaded. “Just one drink. Seven o’clock, tonight, at that little spot around the corner from,” he gulped, “our place.”

My grip on the phone tightened. “Why in the world should I?”

“Because I . . . because I still love you,” he said with such vulnerability that I actually believed him.

I tugged at the yarn on the blanket. Everything in me told me to say no, to resist that gnawing temptation, but something in my heart told me to say yes. “All right,” I said.

It was reason enough to shower, put on some strappy shoes, and meet him for
one cocktail
that night. Just one.

When I walked into the bar where we’d agreed to meet, I felt more beautiful than I had in a long time. Maybe it was the island’s effect on me, or perhaps it was the fact that Joel wanted me back. In any case, a lot had changed since I’d seen him last, and I wondered if he’d notice.

I could see him from across the room, standing there at the bar, standing in exactly the same way I’d seen him so many years ago on the day we met: kind of slouched over, leaning on one elbow, smiling that Joel smile. He was just as handsome, just as dangerous. When his eyes caught mine, I steadied myself and walked over to meet him. I could still have this man, and for a minute, that thought frightened me.

“Hi,” he said, slipping his arm around my waist and kissing my cheek. I didn’t pull away. The way he kissed my cheek, the way I stood there beside him, it was as if we were on autopilot, or operating on muscle memory.

“You look amazing,” he said, pointing to a table in the corner of the bar, which wasn’t really a bar. It was one of those upscale nightclub places Joel had always wanted me to go to with him when I wanted to just order in and spend the night in bed together watching
SNL
.

“Are you hungry?” he asked delicately, as if he might say the wrong thing and scare me away.

“No,” I said, a little startled by the directness in my tone. “But I’ll have that drink I promised you.”

He smiled, and rattled off my martini order to the waitress, from memory: dirty martini, extra olives. When we sat down, I glanced around the room. There were women everywhere—beautiful women in perfect outfits, with perfect hair and perfect bodies. But for the first time in, well, I have no idea how long, Joel’s eyes were fixed on
me
.

When the drinks arrived, I sipped mine slowly. If it was going to be our final drink together, I told myself, it would be OK to make it last.

“So, how is
Stephanie
?” I said.

He looked down at his hands in his lap, then back at my face. “It’s over between us, Emily.” He was careful to make sure that each word that passed his lips wasn’t wounding me. “I was a fool to think that this was love. Because it wasn’t. I didn’t love her, and I never could have. My decision was clouded. I see that now. I made a terrible mistake.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything at first, but as the moments passed, my anger grew. I slammed my hands down on the table. “What do you expect me to say to that, Joel? You chose her over me, and you think you can just waltz back in here and tell me, ‘Oops, I messed up. I had my fun and now I’m back’? It doesn’t work like that.”

He looked very troubled. “I’ll never forgive myself for what I did, for as long as I live.” He cleared his throat. “Stephanie is in the past. I want
you
. I need
you
. I have never been so sure about something in my whole life.”

It wasn’t just the plea of a guy who’d changed his mind on a whim; I knew it then. This was the appeal of a man who knew he’d lost his one true thing. And for that reason, I listened.

“Don’t you see?” he continued. “This could be our second chance, our second act. We could come back stronger, more in love than ever before—if you’d only forgive me.”

“Hey,” I said, noticing that there were tears in his eyes. “It’s OK.” I tilted my head a little and smiled at him. “I decided to forgive you before I even arrived.”

His eyes brightened. “You did?”

“Yes,” I said. He reached for my hand, and I let him hold it in his.

“What do you say, Em?” he said, eyes big and wide and vulnerable. “Will you let me come home?”

I thought of Esther and Elliot on the sidewalk in front of the Landon Park Hotel so many years ago, how she’d given up on him. Was that my lesson? That I was supposed to try again? And I knew it then by the way he looked at me: We
could
weather this storm. We could go on. We could try again. Lots of people moved forward after infidelity. We wouldn’t be the first. But that’s when I had the realization that gave me the greatest closure of all:
I didn’t want to.
I had healed somehow over the past few weeks on Bainbridge Island, even though I didn’t know it at the time. I knew it now.